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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057683">It's Nice To Have A Friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporktato/pseuds/sporktato'>sporktato</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - GTAV, Canon-Typical Violence, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack Pattillo, Geoff is the dad friend, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Swearing, Vagabonding, also B team is there for a hot second at the end, alt title, battle buddies can be platonic or romantic, before the crew knows ryan as ryan, but what do you expect on a Michael centric fic, implied mild dissociation, let Michael show emotions, mild reference to torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:55:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporktato/pseuds/sporktato</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vagabond takes a bullet or three for Michael, and now they're holed up in the worst safehouse known to man (seriously what safehouse doesn't have reception?) with Michael's limited medical knowledge, some probably expired ramen noodles, and an injured friend behind the mask. It goes as well as most things the Fakes do goes, which is below par.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeremy Dooley &amp; Ryan Haywood, Ryan Haywood &amp; Michael Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sleeping In Tents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this with the idea of Hey I haven't read a ton of fics focused on Michael and Ryan that aren't shippy, let's fix that, and then I went Hey let's let Michael have an emotion that isn't anger or amusement and then it got out of hand.</p><p>Also before anyone gives me shit, in my FAHC world Geoff is their medic. No I will not be elaborating.</p><p>Fic &amp; chapter titles from Taylor Swift for no reason other than the song fuckin slaps</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Michael threw himself into the safehouse, double bolting the door before it was even a conscious thought and rushing past Vagabond to the small windows of the shack of a house they were in to stare intently at the traffic racing past the house, waiting anxiously for the impending fleet of nondescript black cars to go sailing by. If any of the opposing gang figured out where they had stashed themselves, they were fucked. It took exactly 47 stressful seconds until Michael saw the first car, flying down the road followed closely by three others, passing right by the safehouse. Michael finally let himself suck in a breath, thunking his head against the glass as his muscles went jelly from the stress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Michael.” Vagabond’s rasp threw Michael’s head off the window, spinning around to take in his partner. Vagabond - he didn’t look good. His mask was gone, leaving his face paint smeared and bloody and he was leaning heavily on the back of the couch. Michael frantically tried to piece together what’s going wrong before noticing how tightly Vagabond had his right arm clamped across his torso, hand and jacket covered in dark blood. Dark blood that was still running, quietly drip drip dripping onto the hardwood floor. Michael meets Vagabond’s eyes again and the two of them just stare at each other for a moment as everything processes. “There better be a fucking med kit in here.” Vagabond finally mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That startles Michael out of his panicked shock, forcing him to take in and catalogue the safehouse in milliseconds. It looked more like a hotel room than anything - the bed, couch, tv, table, and kitchenette all shoved into one room with two doors on the far wall from the entrance. Michael heads to the doors, opens one up to reveal a washer and dryer and a furnace, and the other reveals a small bathroom. A rummage under the sink reveals a med kit - Michael blows the layer of dust off the top - and he returns to Vagabond, who had made his way to a kitchen chair that shouldn’t be holding his weight. Michael hesitates a few steps away, watching Vagabond struggle with his jacket. The thing is, Vagabond and Michael weren’t close. Vagabond liked his personal space and his quiet and Michael tended to be in direct opposition of those, but more than anything, Vagabond was private. His life story was locked down ‘tighter than a nun’s cunt’ according to Geoff, and Michael, well, he wasn’t Jeremy, or even Jack or Geoff, and he didn’t know what he’d even be allowed to do in this situation. He watches Vagabond clench his teeth and rip his jacket the rest of the way off, pulling blood clots and the bleeding speeds up as the mangled jacket hits the ground in a wet ‘plop’ that Michael only slightly flinches at. Vagabond then stares up at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t suppose that’s for me?” Vagabond manages to huff out, eyes darting back down to the red spilling between his fingers and Michael can see now without the jacket it’s not one gunshot, or even two, but three, just far enough apart that Vagabond can’t clamp down on them all at the same time. Michael sets the medkit on the table and pops it open. Three bullet wounds bleeding profusely, a nearly 10 minute car ride here, 47 seconds of anticipation, torn off scabs, and Vagabond wasn’t unconscious yet. Michael’s bleeding forehead and body wide aches suddenly seem to disappear. He pulls out the surgical scissors from the box, hands slightly shaking, and turns back to Vagabond, his mind made up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do it.” He meets Vagabond’s eyes, fully aware the chances of a disagreement are high. Michael’s not Geoff, who patches them all up with steady hands. He’s never even seen Vagabond shirtless. Vagabond glances down to his side and back up to Michael with hazy eyes, the blood loss finally making itself known with the adrenaline wearing off. He swallows and nods and Michael suddenly wants him to argue. Michael doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s never patched up anyone other than Gavin and his Boy and Vagabond were about as different as you could get. He sucks in a breath and starts cutting Vagabond’s shirt off him, working around the three holes as well as he can. It’s when the two of them are working together to get the shirt on the floor as well that Michael realizes something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh oh.” He mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh oh?” Vagabond breathes out. “What’s uh oh?” He’s looking worse by the minute.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only one went through.” Michael stares at the single hole in Vagabond’s back, trying his fucking hardest to ignore the metric fuckton of scars criss crossing everywhere across Vagabond’s torso and arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh oh.” Vagabond agrees, but it’s hardly more than an exhale and Michael needs to do something now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Michael says to himself, grabbing the cleaning supplies. “Okay. I can’t take them out, Vagabond. We don’t exactly have blood to spare.” Vagabond huffs. “I’m gonna stitch you up and when we get back to Geoff he can decide if it’s worth taking the bullets back out. Okay?” Michael was not losing it, absolutely not. Only his very private, very intimidating, very scarred friend was sitting beside him shirtless and bleeding out and losing consciousness and Michael absolutely did not have enough medical knowledge for this. It was fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that being said, things did go better than Michael expected. The bullets were basic, not hollow tips or anything fancy and Vagabond either had too high a pain tolerance or was too out of it to really feel Michael sewing his side back together and it took longer for Michael to get his hands to stop shaking enough to do the stitches than the stitches themselves did. They’re not neat by any means, Geoff could do better in his sleep, but they keep the blood in and Michael takes what he can get. Vagabond flinches slightly as Michael works on getting the blood off his side and arm but otherwise remains pliant and Michael wraps his fingers around Vagabond’s wrist and curses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vagabond?” Michael shakes his shoulder slightly but the man’s eyes stay closed. Michael can feel the pulse under his fingertips fluttering fast and weak. “Vagabond!” Michael shakes him harder, and Vagabond’s blue eyes flutter open, unfocused and confused. Michael swears again. “Not funny asshole.” He spits out, covering up his fear. “Keep your fucking eyes open.” Vagabond lazily smiles at him and Michael forces himself to let go of his wrist and go back to the caked on blood. “How the fuck did you get Swiss cheesed so bad anyways?” Michael asks. That’s what Geoff does when one of them is teetering on unconsciousness, asks them questions to keep them focused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vagabond swallows, Michael can literally see the gears turning. “He was aimed at you. Your back was turned. Woulda taken your head off. Figured what’s my body to your head, right?” Vagabond tries for a joke, he can probably tell even in his state how not okay Michael is, and what does a Lad like more than a joke? Only problem is, it’s not funny. Michael’s mouth dries up as he grabs bandages to protect the stitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These were meant for me? You jumped in front of a fuckin’ gun for me?” Michael stares at Vagabond, whose eyes have drifted closed again. Vagabond hums in confirmation and Michael stays quiet as he starts wrapping Vagabond up. It doesn’t really piece together in Michael’s head. He’s not Jeremy - the only person Vagabond seems to outwardly care about. He’s not Geoff - the man that keeps them all going and keeps them safe. “Why?” Michael asks as he secures the bandage. “Vagabond, why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vagabond’s eyes sluggishly find his again. “Why wouldn’t I? Care ‘bout you Michael. Not gonna let my friend die.” His words are slurring and as much as Michael wants to discuss this new revelation, he’s much more concerned with the slurring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael grabs Vagabond’s arm, on his good side. “Alright man you gotta gimme a hand you’re fuckin’ heavy.” Michael thanks whatever ingrained preservation instincts Vagabond seems to possess as even more unconscious than not he wraps his arm around Michael’s shoulders and tries to get his feet under him. Michael still takes majority of the weight, and holy tits is Vagabond heavy what does he eat, and they three legged shuffle to the bed. Miraculously, Michael gets Vagabond settled on the bed with minimal issues and even gets a glass of water into him before Vagabond’s brain finally taps out and he passes out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then it’s just Michael. His body decides to politely remind him he basically got thrown out of a second story window earlier in the night but Michael knows he won’t be able to fall asleep now. He spends longer than he’d like to admit just staring at Vagabond. In his defense, he’s never seen the older man like this, and said psycho killer just accidentally gave him a lot to think about. Vagabond’s face paint still hides his facial features fine enough, but the scars on his body tell a story. There’s numerous gunshots, scars from stabbings and slashings, a pale ugly burn spanning his right forearm up nearly to his shoulder, and among other concerning scars, a dozen or so of clean, long, and meticulous scars running horizontally over his ribs on both sides that Michael doesn’t want to associate with drawn out torture, and that’s when Michael snaps out of his trance. He takes the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulls it up over Vagabond’s shoulders and turns back to the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vagabond’s shirt goes in the trash and the jacket - potentially salvageable - hangs off the back of the kitchen chair. Michael finds some dish rags under the kitchen sink and starts scrubbing the blood off the floor as his mind runs around the fact that Vagabond had taken three bullets for Michael because he genuinely cared about Michael. He forces himself to think about something and he’s rewarded with the reminder that there’s still two bullets in Vagabond’s side. Michael growls at himself as he wrings the rags into the sink, watching the blood wash away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, as Michael is in the bathroom, rubbing the scrapes on his arms and forehead down with an alcohol wipe, it occurs to him none of the crew has tried to contact either of them. It’s after midnight, and Geoff should have made it back to the penthouse with Michael and Vagabond drawing so many of the gang members after themselves, that is unless something happened to Geoff too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael fumbles his phone out of his back pocket and stares at the now cracked screen that seems to be devoid of any new messages or missed calls. He frowns, making his way to finally flop heavily on the couch, and checks his calls and messages again, before deciding to just call Gavin. It doesn’t go through. Michael stares at his phone, slightly baffled, before realizing what the issue was; there was no fucking reception. What kind of half assed, outback, fuckin boonie located piece of shit lean-to were they stuck in that they didn’t have fucking reception? Michael contemplated throwing his phone out the fucking window but relented. Vagabond was decent with tech, Michael would get him to MacGyver something in the morning, but for now they were stuck without any way of contacting the rest of the crew. Michael hoped the others wouldn’t be too worried, the last thing the Fakes needed right now was Geoff or Gavin ending up in jail or with the crew that just fucked them because they’re out looking for their teammates. Michael drags out a sigh, growling into the quiet around him, but there’s nothing for him to do so he pulls his jacket off for a pillow and drags the throw blanket off the back of the couch and passes out after another hour or two of his thoughts running in circles.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael gets woken at dawn by quiet shuffling in the kitchenette. Through his eyelashes he watches Vagabond, pale and clinging to the counter with one hand, run a wet rag over his face, coming away gray and gross. The bathroom light is on, meaning he probably got up to piss and his face paint felt gross. Eventually Vagabond gives up on his endeavour and, draping the rag over the tap, starts the slow shuffle back to the bed. One hand stays clamped on his side and the other grabs whatever it can to support his weight and Michael forces his eyes shut again as Vagabond gets to the bed, pointedly not staring at his face even if there’s not much to see in the poor lighting. Michael drifts off again to the sound of Vagabond’s raspy breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next time Michael wakes he gets up, immediately moaning at the all over pain thrumming up and down his limbs and pulsing in his head. He gives himself a moment to just hold his head in his hands before shuffling to the kitchenette, praying there’s something not expired tucked away somewhere. The sight of the messy rag on the tap causes Michael’s neck to crack at the speed he whips it around to stare at Vagabond. Vagabond’s facing away, towards the door, and Michael goes back to finding something edible. There’s instant noodles, the kind Ray got Geoff into eating which really shows how old this safehouse is, and Michael has to slap the microwave a few times before the bowl starts spinning, but he doesn’t really care.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fact Vagabond hasn’t woken up at Michael’s scavenging is more concerning. Michael stands in the kitchenette with the microwave thrumming, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he decides what to do. Well, that’s not true - he knows what he needs to do, but actually doing it takes some working up to. The microwave buzzes at him and Michael sets the bowl on the counter before turning back to the bed. Slowly, slower than Michael’s probably ever moved, he approaches Vagabond. In the morning light Michael can see his blond roots and that strikes Michael as such a mundane thing he almost reevaluates the entire situation, but he doesn’t. Michael stares at Vagabond’s face as he grabs his wrist again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin, and Ray while he was with them, and Michael have a betting pool going over why Vagabond doesn’t show his face. Gavin thinks it’s because of some horrible disfigurement ‘Phantom of the Opera style, boi!’ Geoff says it’s just to hide from the cops, but could never answer for why the crew never saw him. Jack and Jeremy don’t offer their opinions. Lindsay says it’s because he’s allergic to the sun like a vampire. Michael always said it’s because Vagabond is probably insanely hot and anyone who sees him immediately falls in love with him. Not that he believed that, but it was his argument. The point is, they’re all wrong. Is he hot and pale and has a few scars in his hairline and across his nose and cheekbones? Yes, absolutely; but Vagabond just looks, well, normal, and it’s a little underwhelming in Michael’s opinion but it let’s him concentrate on the more important matter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The matter being Vagabond’s heartbeat between Michael’s fingers is sluggish, and not particularly strong. Immediately, he’s repeating his actions from last night, worriedly shaking Vagabond’s shoulder and yelling at him. Vagabond snaps up after half a moment and makes a half conscious attempt to punch Michael out of pure reflex but halfway up hisses loudly and curls in on himself, breathing loudly. Michael grabs the arm clenched around the bullet holes, muttering, “Oh no you don’t asshole I worked hard on those.” Vagabond huffs a few breaths in and out through his nose, eyes scrunched shut and Michael just sits there awkwardly holding his arm so he doesn’t tear at the stitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vagabond?” Michael tries after the man’s breathing sounds much closer to normal. Vagabond opens his eyes, staring at Michael with eyes that look a lot different without the black facepaint inked around them. “How you feeling?” Michael asks. He’s floundering, he wasn’t built for comfort, and Vagabond isn’t exactly the easiest person to offer comfort to anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vagabond makes a noise in his throat that may have been an attempt at a laugh and mutters, “Like ass, actually.” He attempts to sit up more and Michael quickly lets go of his arm. He stares at his noodles on the kitchen counter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t waking up.” He states, not letting his emotions bleed through. “You’re not allowed to not be okay, alright? I’m not Geoff, I don’t know how to deal with your injured ass okay so just don’t get worse. Alright?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time Vagabond does laugh, which quickly turns into a grunt as he clenches up around his side again and Michael doesn’t know what to do so he ignores the pained noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Food?” Michael asks, turning back to Vagabond. “We got noodles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vagabond nods slowly. “That’d be great, and painkillers if we have ‘em.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael almost slaps himself for not thinking of that. “Shit, yeah, right.” He mumbles, pulling himself off the bed to head back to the bathroom for the med kit. “Also-” He yells from under the sink. “There’s no fuckin reception here. Haven’t been able to reach the crew. Think you can tell me how to throw something together?” He returns to Vagabond, passing him two red pills and a glass of water. Vagabond’s face is flushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Course.” Vagabond says after throwing the pills back. He grimaces and swallows hard as he rearranges on the bed. “You get me food, I’ll get you reception.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Been Stressed Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So that’s what happens. Vagabond stays in bed and takes apart his own phone and Michael pulls some wires from the back of the tv and after a few hours, with lots of swearing on Michael’s part, Vagabond hands Michael a boxy contraption to connect to the telephone pole outside with strict instructions on how not to fry himself. Michael doesn’t notice how bad Vagabond’s hands are shaking, doesn’t notice how he alternates between pulling the blankets around him and pushing them away. Michael takes more than a while getting the connection set up outside, he’s treating it how he would one of his bombs and one wrong move and Michael’s dead or something might happen Vagabond just can’t fix. Forty five minutes later, Michael’s sweating and swearing and hungry cause they skipped lunch but Vagabond’s creation is holding up and Michael hesitantly pulls out his phone, daring to look for those promised bars across the top.</p><p>Immediately, his phone starts absolutely fucking losing it in his hand, confirming that Vagabond’s electric Frankenstein had in fact been successful. There’s literally over a hundred missed calls, mainly from Gavin and Geoff but a handful from Jack and Jeremy as well. His answering machine is full. There’s texts from all of them, even from B Team, and Michael reads Geoff first few texts asking if he and Vagabond are okay but they turn worried fast and Michael decides to call him before he gets nine texts in. It gets a ring and a half in before the call goes through.</p><p>“Michael?” Geoff practically yells through the phone, voice full of anxiety and Michael wonders if this is how Gavin feels when Michael yells at him.</p><p>“Yeah it’s me don’t cream yourself.” Michael leans against the phone pole, picking at a staple in the wood.</p><p>“You!” Geoff yells, voice cracking. He sputters a bit, not quite knowing what to say. There’s a pause, and then Geoff loses it. “You absolute piece of shit!” He yells - Michael pulls the phone slightly away from his ear. “Do you know how fucking worried we were? It’s been almost a day, Michael! A day! Nothing on the news, neither you or Vagabond answering your phones, no ransom notes, even Gavin couldn’t find you! Gavin’s a mess, Michael! Jeremy! Jack! You cunt! I swear to god I’m gonna chain both of you up in the penthouse so we don’t lose you two assholes again!”</p><p>Michael starts laughing. He can’t help it. He’s touched about the worry, really he is, but he can’t deal with the fact they caused the crew so much issue, so he laughs instead. Geoff sighs heavily into the speaker. Michael can practically see him drag a hand over his face.</p><p>“You’re both okay though?” Geoff asks, quietly, and Michael can hear how tired he is. Michael contemplates how to answer. He takes too long. “Michael?” There’s a sharp tone to Geoff’s voice. “Where’s Vagabond?”</p><p>Michael’s quick to reassure him, “He’s alive.” Geoff’s relief is audible. “He-” Michael bites at his lip, picking still at the stupid staple. “He got shot.”</p><p>Geoff hums. “I’ve taught you enough to patch up a bullet.”</p><p>Michael gets a splinter from picking at the staple and gives up on it. “No, Geoff, it’s-” He huffs again, deciding ‘Fuck it’ and spits it out. “He got shot three times.” Geoff hisses but Michael powers on before he loses the nerve. “All in the side, only one of them passed through. He took them for me, Geoff.” There’s a silence between them, it’s just Michael huffing to himself in the middle of nowhere and watching the sun go lower and lower. “I asked him why the fuck he- did that. And he said they were meant for me. He took three fucking bullets for me and he was bleeding everywhere and I did what I could but I’m not you Geoff I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and I felt his pulse - I felt his pulse and fuck it was so weak and I couldn’t wake him up and same today he wouldn’t fucking wake up and we didn’t have fucking reception and-”</p><p>“Michael!” Geoff’s voice freezes him. Geoff says his name again, softer, and Michael stares the setting sun down like he could fight it. “Where is he?” Michael hates everything right now. Hates how Geoff is using his soft voice on Michael, hates he thinks Michael needs the soft voice, hates he’s making Geoff deal with his mess at all. Michael swallows his venom audibly.</p><p>“Inside.” He states. “We didn’t have reception. He spent the day wiring some contraption together, I had to come out to hook it up.”</p><p>“Okay.” Geoff says, like it’s a simple issue. “Do you want to talk to Gavin? Or either of the other two?”</p><p>“I-?” Michael stutters, thrown by the change. “What? Geoff, Vagabond-”</p><p>“Can wait.” Geoff interrupts. “Think of it like this, Michael. If you’re thinking about something else, you’re not gonna be able to watch Vagabond as well.” Geoff words it as nice as he can but the message is clear - If Michael’s too busy worrying about the crew, Vagabond could end up paying for it. Michael sighs, Geoff hums in response.</p><p>“Yeah, I get it. Lemme talk to Gavin. I-” Michael swallows what he was about to say. Geoff’s quietly waiting. Geoff who’s probably spent the last day stressed about Michael and Vagabond and taking care of the other three and is still calmly dealing with Michael’s freak outs now. Michael’s last tough guy defense breaks. “I can’t talk to Jeremy, Geoff. I don’t know what I’d say.” He waits for Geoff to laugh at him, even though he knows he never would for something like this.</p><p>“Okay.” Geoff says again, just as calm as last time. “Lemme find Gavin.” Michael drops to the sandy ground, back to the phone pole as he distantly listens to Geoff’s clothes shifting, a door opening, a knock and another door open. He hears Geoff say, “Phone’s for you.”</p><p>Then Gavin in his ear with a confused and tired “Hullo?”</p><p>Michael smiles for the first time in a day. “Hey, boi.” Gavin squawks and Michael starts laughing.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t talk long, just enough for Michael to say yes he and Vagabond are both alive, and Gavin tells him what happened with the rival crew after the two of them disappeared. Apparently Jack was already planning to burn the city down for Michael and Vagabond and Michael’s almost touched. He reassures Gavin a dozen times he’s fine and he and Vagabond will be home shortly and absolutely doesn’t tell him about how Vagabond is actually doing and Michael waits for the phone to be returned to Geoff. Despite trying to keep it short with Gavin, the entire phone call is already nearly an hour and Michael’s basically sitting in the dark and definitely should have gone in to tell Vagabond he didn’t die trying to make a phone call so he stands and brushes his ass off as Geoff shoos Gavin out of his room.</p><p>“How you doing?” Geoff asks as a way of hello.</p><p>“Should be asking you that, fuckin worrywart.” Michael grunts, stretching his legs out as he heads back towards the door.</p><p>“Sorry did I lose my mind over a teammate being shot?”</p><p>Michael is feeling more himself after talking with Gavin and has no issue snarking back. “I’m sure you cried into your pillow once you passed the phone off, Geezer.”</p><p>Geoff huffs. “I shouldn’t have let you talk to that British prick I don’t like you anymore. Where’s Vagabond, I wanna talk to him now.”</p><p>“Working on it.” Michael jimmies the handle a little to force it open - he’d been a little rougher than it could handle when they had first bust in last night. “Vagabond?” He calls out once the door swings open. The kitchen light is still on and Michael easily sees Vagabond still on the bed, asleep again. He bites his lip, closing the door behind him. To Geoff he says, “He’s asleep again. He’s been sleeping a lot man, is that normal?”</p><p>“Eh.” Geoff offers. “His body’s trying to fix three fuckin holes in his side, it’s not abnormal. Wake him up though, I wanna talk to him. What did the wounds look like when you changed the bandages today?”</p><p>Michael freezes halfway to the bed. Oh he wanted to absolutely clock himself; of course he was supposed to change the bandages, Michael always gave Geoff shit about how much Geoff insisted on doing that. His silence doesn’t go unnoticed.</p><p>“You didn’t change the bandages, did you?” Geoff deadpans.</p><p>“Fuck.” Michael offers softly.</p><p>There’s silence from Geoff that is almost worse than a sigh. Eventually Geoff says, “Wake him up, Michael.”</p><p>Michael nods, closing the remaining distance and, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the side table, begins a third round of trying to wake Vagabond up. Michael shakes his shoulder as he says his name, preparing himself for the inevitable punch that will be thrown at him. It doesn’t come. Michael shakes him harder, says his name louder. Vagabond doesn’t wake up. “Geoff?” Michael’s voice wavers. He stares at the phone like Geoff will come through the speakers and take Michael’s mistakes off his hands.</p><p>“What’s his pulse?” Geoff demands, and any tired mirth in his voice is gone. Right, Michael knows pulse. He grabs Vagabond’s wrist a third time.</p><p>“Bad.” He says.</p><p>“Michael.”</p><p>“Fast, too fast, and weak. Like it was last night.”</p><p>“What does he look like?” Geoff asks, calmly, too calmly for Michael.</p><p>“W-what?”</p><p>Geoff huffs. “Is he pale? Sweating? Shivering?”</p><p>Michael lets out an ‘uhhhhhh’ as he stares at Vagabond, the signs that had been showing all day long starting to fall into place. “Yes. Yes to all of the above.”</p><p>Geoff swears. It’s muffled behind his hand but Michael still hears it.</p><p>“He’s sick, isn’t he?” Michael asks, feeling childish but he needs Geoff to tell him he’s wrong. Michael fucking hates being wrong but he might just cry in relief if Geoff told him he was wrong right now.</p><p>Geoff doesn’t answer. Instead he tells Michael, “Cut the bandages off, tell me what the stitches look like.”</p><p>“Messy.” Michael immediately says. He knows it’s not what Geoff means but Michael needs to make a joke, he doesn’t do serious situations he’s not a Gent. He grabs the switchblade out of his jacket pocket and starts cutting through the layers of white wrappings. His hands shake as he pulls the gauze pads off the stitches. “Geoff.” He says, like a kneejerk reaction, like Geoff is his fallback for everything, which, well, he is.</p><p>“What do they look like, Michael?”</p><p>“They’re swollen, and red. There’s like-” Michael pauses as he confirms what he’s looking at. “There’s like green shit around the stitches.” Geoff is silent again, and it’s a punch to the gut. “Geoff?”</p><p>“I’m getting Jack and we’re coming to get you two.”</p><p>Michael sits up straight. “What, what does that mean, Geoff? Is Vagabond- he’s gonna be fine right? You can fix this right?” Michael loathes how his voice wavers, he’s not a kid anymore, he can deal with this like an adult.</p><p>“Probably-”</p><p>“Probably?!” Michael nearly yells.</p><p>“Michael.” Geoff says in his Kingpin voice and Michael’s mouth snaps shut. “The wounds are infected, and probably have been for a while. I’m getting Jack and we’ll be there in less than fifteen, okay?”</p><p>Michael swallows. “Okay.” He murmurs.</p><p>“Okay.” Geoff confirms. “Fifteen minutes, Michael. Call me before then if he stops breathing.” The call ends.</p><p>“If he-!?” Michael yells to no one. He stares at Vagabond, desperately willing him to under no circumstances stop breathing. He reaches for Vagabond’s wrist again, sees how bad his own hand is shaking.</p><p>It’s his fault that Vagabond’s like this, in every sense of the words ‘his fault’. If he was more observant Vagabond wouldn’t have gotten shot at all. If he had listened to Geoff better he could have stitched him up better and it wouldn’t have gotten infected and he would have remembered to check in the daytime. If he had paid attention he would’ve seen the signs all day long; the shaking and sweating and chills. And now Michael is sitting in the worst safehouse known to man, alone with his possibly dying teammate, and there’s nothing he can do but wait.</p><p>He’s crying. It takes a while for Michael to notice, and it’s not much, just damp eyelashes and a stray track or two down his cheek, but it’s enough to floor Michael. He doesn’t cry, hasn’t since he was a kid. He’s never cried for a teammate, or any other reason. But if Vagabond dies, it’s solely on Michael.</p><p>Michael wishes he was Geoff; confident in his actions and head full of medical knowledge and steady hands despite his hatred for blood. Michael wishes he was Jack; always prepared to improvise and overcome any challenge with determination and skill and she would fix this just as quick as Geoff would. Michael wishes Gavin were here for purely selfish reasons; to tell Michael the Plan B and C and H,I,J, and to tell Michael to ‘Lighten up a little, boi, V’s a tough piece o’ shit, he’ll be peachy soon enough.’ Michael wishes Jeremy were here; to tell Michael to trust in his decisions and to get through to Vagabond in a way only Lil J is able to and Jeremy would have gotten Vagabond to tell Michael that something was wrong hours ago, and fuck what is Michael going to say to Jeremy? If Vagabond dies, Michael’s dead, Jeremy will kill him and Michael won’t even stop him. But Jeremy would be an absolute wreck if Vagabond doesn’t survive this.</p><p>“Alright, asshole.” Michael growls at Vagabond’s prone body. “Don’t you fucking dare die. If you die I die, and Lil J will probably die cause god knows you two are attached at the fucking hip, which is disgusting by the way, and then it’ll be just Geoff and Jack and Gavin and Gav won’t last a day without me so unless you wanna leave Geoff and Jack like an old couple that just lost all their kids you better not fucking die, do you hear me?” Vagabond cannot hear him, understandably, but Michael doesn’t care.</p><p>There’s a knock on the door before it’s pushed open and Geoff is standing in the doorway, backlit by the front porchlight and Michael physically feels the coil unwinding in his chest as Geoff approaches the bed, Jack half a step behind him.</p><p>“Michael.” Jack smiles at him but it doesn’t meet her tired eyes. Her face is bare of makeup and her hair and clothes are disheveled and Michael thought he couldn't feel any worse but here he is, feeling worse. Her eyes glance down to Vagabond, taking in the rows of messy stitches, the sheer number of scars, and Michael watches her face closely as her eyes slide up to Vagabond’s face. Her smile is a little more real this time. “He’s handsome.” She says simply. “I always expected Gavin to win, honestly.” She meets Michael’s gaze again. “Grab whatever you two brought and throw it in the trunk.” Her head nods back towards the door.</p><p>Michael sees the distraction for what it is and accepts it greedily. He grabs his coat off the back of the couch and Vagabond’s from the kitchen as well as the pieces of Vagabond’s phone and flees to the SUV Jack had brought. He pops the trunk and tosses the coats in after shoving the phone pieces in the pockets. He slams the trunk shut and leans his forehead on the cool window, just breathing in the night air, mentally wrapping his layers of protection back around himself. He counts to 60 before he peels his face off the window and marches back in the house.</p><p>Geoff and Jack are sat on opposite sides of the bed, matching creased foreheads and furrowed brows as they poke and prod at Vagabond. The medkit is open behind Jack and Geoff rips a sanitizing wipe open, carefully dabbing it at Michael’s stitches to see what he was looking at better. They don’t notice him as they share a look that sets alarms off in Michael’s head. He coughs pointedly. They both stare at him, now matching blank faces.</p><p>“You can fix this, right?” Michael asks again.</p><p>Geoff sucks a breath in. “Personally, no.”</p><p>Michael’s knees threaten to give out. He lets the doorknob he was still holding take his weight.</p><p>“But,” Geoff continues, “the doctors on our payroll in the hospital downtown will be able to.” Michael stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t know if he’s thanking the god he doesn’t believe in or what he’s doing. “But it needs to be now.” Geoff turns back to Vagabond. “You’ll need to help me get him into the car.”</p><p>Jack stands, grabbing the medkit and returning it to the bathroom. Michael gets his legs under him and takes her side of the bed. Jack returns on the phone and goes to hold the door for them. With more caution than Michael has ever given a person, he and Geoff get Vagabond into the backseat of the SUV and Jack peels away from the safehouse. Michael tells himself, sitting in the window, torso hanging out the car, he’ll come back later, maybe with Jeremy, and set the place on fire. It’d make him feel better.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Have My Back Everyday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <span>Once they get to the hospital Michael genuinely doesn’t remember much. Jack and Geoff have a standoff with a few doctors they easily win and Vagabond, shirtless, maskless, unconscious and possibly dying Vagabond, is wheeled away on a hospital bed and then Michael’s in a shitty plastic chair and then he’s back in the SUV with no idea how he got there. Jack’s driving, obviously, and chewing her lips to shreds, eyes purposely focused on the road.</span>
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  <span>“Jack?” Michael asks. His throat’s dry. She turns to look at him, relief sinking her shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank god.” She sighs. “Don’t do that again.”</span>
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  <span>“Do what?” Michael rubs his eyes, trying to tell where exactly they are.</span>
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  <span>“You just, like, zoned out once we got to the hospital. Freaked Geoff and I right out.”</span>
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  <span>That causes Michael to jolt. “Vagabond?” He demands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still in surgery. Geoff’s waiting. You need food and a shower and sleep before I let you go back there.”</span>
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  <span>“Jack.” He hisses out, trying to make her understand everything he can’t bring himself to say.</span>
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  <span>“Don’t.” She stares at him, a look that leaves little room for argument. “I’ve spent the last day worried to hell about both of you, I cannot spend the next day doing the same; I refuse to go grey this young.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but Michael still feels the sting. He’s why she’s worried. He turns back to the window. Jack’s hand lays on his arm and they drive in silence for a while. “I’m taking you to your apartment.” Jack says quietly. “Geoff said you might not want to see Jeremy - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gavin </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Jeremy right now.” She tries to cover the slip but Michael hears it. Geoff told her about Michael’s freak out. He wants to be pissed but if it keeps him from having to explain his mistakes to Jeremy he’ll take it. Michael hums and nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reach his place and Jack escorts him into his apartment. Michael tells her to piss off, that he can take care of himself, but Jack is focused solely on Michael and it’s a battle he won’t win. She makes a grilled cheese while he’s in the shower and he pisses and moans and she snaps at him but he eats it and lets her corral him into his own bedroom. Michael gets it; Jeremy boxes, Michael makes things go boom, Gavin drinks tea, Geoff reads. When Jack’s stressed, she mother hens. She raids his place for all sets of car keys and tells him to text her in the morning and she’ll come pick him up and they’ll go to the hospital together. Michael tells her to get the fuck out of his house already and once she’s gone he sadistically wants to stay awake stewing in his mistakes and faults and his apologies and how he’s gonna make sure Jack and Geoff are fine once the rest of them have all killed each other and themselves but he’s asleep within half an hour.</span>
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  <span>Arriving at the hospital is as painful as Michael expects it to be. Jack is a welcome constant at his side as they navigate the halls and enter Vagabond’s private room. The name the nurses give them is Vincent, which gives Michael something to laugh at, but the weight in his gut is unmistakable as Jack knocks on the closed door before opening it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the crew is crammed in the small room. Geoff is asleep in the same clothes Michael last saw him in, legs propped on the hospital bed and torso slumped painfully in the shitty chair. Gavin is beside Geoff and Jeremy is by the door; both of them stare at Michael as he enters. Gavin has a tablet in his hands, anxiety visible in his stiff posture but still trying to be productive. Jeremy gives Michael a look he doesn’t try to read. Jeremy’s knuckles are bruised, most likely from the punching bags in their gym. Usually Vagabond pulls him away before he hurts himself. Jack slips past Jeremy, breaking their staring contest, and takes the last chair in the room, leaving Michael standing uncomfortably as he finally turns to Vagabond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vagabond looks, aside from the IV and heart monitor, fine. It actually startles Michael. He just looks asleep, white sheets pulled up to under his armpits and hair brushed away from his face. For a second, Michael can almost pretend they’re just another family in the hospital and not master criminals, and the completely average looking guy in the bed isn’t the most feared mercenary in Los Santos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone is still looking at Michael, waiting to see what he’s going to do, aside from Geoff who’s snoring. Finally, he crosses his arms and asks Gavin, “So?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gavin offers him a small smile, glancing to Jack as well. “He should be fine, doctors say.” Michael can actually feel the weight lifting from his stomach. “‘Parently the infections were real nasty but you got him here in time. Doctors said few hours more would’ve been a different story though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jack sighs loudly, sinking into her chair as Michael tugs his hand through his hair. “Glad we can cross our yearly almost-death off.” Jack, like any Gent in a room of Lads, goes for the joke, and like any Gent, misses the mark. “Let’s not add any more boys.” She stands with new energy, slipping by Jeremy again. “I’m gonna go find a decent cup of coffee.” She gets to the door before adding on, “You’re coming with me, Gavin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wot? Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael is promising Jack a slow death with his eyes as she gives him a look that blatantly says ‘Talk to him.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I can’t carry five cups by myself. Come on asshole.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael absolutely does not want Gavin to leave, but after some fussing over his tablet he passes Michael and heads out the door in front of Jack. Jack shoots Michael one last glare as she closes the door behind her; then it’s just Michael and Jeremy, with a snoring Geoff and a medically induced unconscious Vagabond. Michael grinds his teeth and drops into Gavin’s chair, setting his tablet on the bedside table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Across from him, Jeremy’s been quiet the entire time, staring at the heart monitor as it displays a steady repeating pattern, so different from the last time Michael had felt Vagabond’s pulse.  There’s a pregnant pause that can only be explained as awkward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, “How’re you?” Jeremy asks quietly, finally taking his eyes off the heart monitor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How am- What?” Michael sputters, staring at Jeremy. Jeremy smiles at him and it makes Michael mad. “You’re the one with-” Michael vaguely gestures at Vagabond, not quite sure how to word what he’s saying. “Don’t fucking ask me how I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeremy actually has the audacity to laugh at Michael. How it doesn’t wake Geoff up is a mystery. “Alright man, fair. Just don’t want you blaming yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael’s face goes red. “Blame myself? Who’s blaming myself? I’m not the fuckface that went and got himself hole punched!” Jeremy covers his face as he continues to laugh. “Stop fucking laughing asshole! This- he-!” Michael waves his hands, gesturing first to the room in general then back to Vagabond. Jeremy’s still chuckling as Michael drops his head in his hands, pulling at his hair again. Jeremy goes quiet as Michael huffs a bit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Jeremy starts, quietly, softly. “Michael, breathe.” Michael snorts a little because yeah thanks asshole, but he does and they sit in silence again till Michael looks back up to Jeremy, who’s already staring at him. “He’s gonna be fine. And I’m gonna let him know you’ve secretly got a big ole bleeding heart, Mr. Tough Guy my ass Michael.” Michael chuckles a little at that, figures it means Vagabond will wake up even if it’s just to rib him. The silence isn’t awkward anymore, and Micheal finds himself breathing easier with every beep of the heart monitor. He gets why Jeremy was staring at it, it’s really hypnotizing actually.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a bit there’s a knock on the door and Jack and Gavin slip back in laden with disposable cafeteria cups. Jack gives both Jeremy and Michael a look and reaches a conclusion as she passes a cup to Jeremy and reclaims her seat before Gavin can steal it. Gavin instead flops himself down in Michael’s lap, pulling a cup out of the tray and handing it to him. They throw the extra creamers at Geoff until he wakes up and accepts his coffee half awake. Micheal can feel Geoff staring at him, accessing him, but he ignores it in favour of messing with whatever Gavin was working on on the tablet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a while they discuss a schedule for staying with Vagabond that comes down to about 75% of the time on Michael and the other 25% divided between the other four. Geoff gets forced out to shower and eat and Gavin drags Jeremy out after a while to do the same - Jeremy had been there nearly as long as Geoff it seemed. Jack has a conversation with a nurse in the hallway and after getting Michael to promise to call if he needs anything she heads out too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael’s not stupid, he knows why they were fine with his volunteering to stay with Vagabond so much, and it goes beyond for the sake of his mental health at seeing Vagabond okay. The others were already planning on taking down the gang that fucked them, and Michael didn’t blame them for keeping him out of it, not if they were trying to go about it with any subtlety. If they need a hand they’ll call in the twins, people good at stealth when necessary, unlike Michael and Lindsay.</span>
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  <span>The next three days go by practically without Michael. He spends the days in the hospital, at night someone trades places with him, and he goes home to eat and sleep and do it again in the morning. The crew doesn’t keep him out of what they’re doing; when Gavin takes the ‘night shift’, as Jeremy’s dubbed it, he’ll come early and give updates of what him and Matt found digitally, or what safehouse Jeremy, Alfredo, and Jack flushed out, or what precautions Geoff and Trevor are refurbishing. Jeremy tells him stuff too, but lighter stuff, stuff to make him laugh after spending all day with the equivalent of a corpse and Jack shows up with food and a trinket found from wherever she was that day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the next three days Michael’s kept in his own bubble with V and he can’t even be bothered because the memory of V bleeding out on the hardwood still creeps up on him. Sometimes his fingers tingle with a phantom weak pulse, and remembering V’s limp body under him as Michael ordered him to not die makes him have to remember to breathe. He tells Geoff this one night, when Geoff offered (forced) a ride home as Jack stayed with V, and he’s assured it will be better once V wakes up and Michael can see him awake and fine, but it’s been three days, plus the one they were all there for, and V hadn’t woken up once. Sometime during that Michael had started thinking of Vagabond as V, the nickname both Jeremy and Gavin use, and he’s gotten so used to seeing the plain face without the facepaint but he’d pay money to see V’s eyes open again, even if it meant with the paint.</span>
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  <span>The next morning Michael picks up breakfast before heading to the hospital, grabbing something extra for Jack. It’s now day four of Michael’s solitary watch, over six days since V was shot, and there’s a news banner on his phone saying numerous members of the shithole gang have been found dead and a handful of suspected locations of theirs burnt to the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael’s in the middle of texting Gavin, telling him Geoff and Trevor better have saved something for Michael to blow up as he walks into V’s room, bag of breakfast food in the other hand. Without looking up he shoves the bag at Jack, stepping around her to sit beside her. A few things happen quickly after that, starting with V asking, “Nothing for me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael, who had been in the process of sitting down, snaps his head up from his phone, misses his seat and instead slams his ass into the ground, and drops his phone. Jack, who had been mid sip of more terrible caf coffee, chokes on her drink from laughing and spews it on the floor, and V in turn starts laughing too, holding onto his side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who knew seeing V laughing at Michael’s expense would be one of the best things Michael’s witnessed? “You’re awake.” He says dumbly, looking up at V from the floor. Whatever the older man would have responded with was cut off as Michael jumps up, turning on Jack as she mopped up coffee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said you’d call me! What the fuck happened to that? Where’s the fucking communication shithead?” Jack’s just sitting there smiling at him and it’s so much like how Jeremy had treated him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>V tries to cut in with an “Actually-” but Michael’s woken up from a five day slumber and boy howdy is he ready to let people know it as he swings back to V sitting there on the stupid hospital bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you!” Michael starts, “I swear to God if you ever do something that fucking stupid again I’ll kill you myself asshole! You would think someone as smart as you would think ‘Hey, maybe I should tell my friend I’m currently fucking dying out in the boonies’ but no! You’re a piece of fucking shit for making me worry like that you know that? If I felt like having someone die on me I’d fucking go kill them myself I don’t need your ass doing that shit! If I ever see you like that again I’ll- I’ll fuckin’” Once again Michael gestured wildly around him, trying to get across what the hell he was saying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>V smiles at him, and it’s strange seeing him smile, but not bad, but his eyes are kinda sad, and that’s strange too because Michael’s never seen him sad. “I’m sorry.” V starts, fumbling to sit up straighter. “For making you deal with that, and for scaring you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t scared.” Michael insists, but even he can hear how choked his voice is and V’s always been the best at seeing through all their bullshit. Michael looks away from V, those stupid blue eyes can see right through him, and realizes it’s just the two of them now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I had thought he wouldn’t have killed you I wouldn’t have done that. Being shot really isn’t high on my list of things to do most days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael does laugh at that, it’s a little hysterical but he’s not crying and he’s not yelling anymore so he counts it as an improvement. “Ever heard of a warning, V? Take much to be like, ‘Hey Michael fuckin duck, thanks’?” Michael sits down, properly this time, and grabs his phone from the ground. He can feel V’s eyes on him as he pretends to check his texts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one blames you for what happened, least of all me, Michael.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael can’t look up. “Who thought they did?”</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>“You.” V answers simply. Michael keeps mindlessly flipping through his Instagram like it’s something important. The silence drags on as V fumbles with the IV as he reaches for the glass of water on the side table. Finally, as Michael is starting to itch out of his skin, V continues. “I did what I did, and I accepted the consequences before it happened. People like us die, Michael.” Michael flinches at how bluntly he puts it. “But if I can keep one of you alive a little bit longer I’ll do it every single time no matter what it costs me personally.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael meets V’s eyes, trying to grab onto something resembling an argument. “Jeremy-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Knows this is how I work, so does Geoff. Jeremy wouldn’t have blamed you, doesn’t blame you now. Does he?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael shakes his head, thinking of Jeremy laughing as V laid between them hours after surgery. He rubs at his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No harm no foul, right?” V asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael chokes. “I’d call that harm. Have you seen the scars those are gonna be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>V laughs. “You’ve seen the collection, what’s four more really? Speaking of which, do I have a shirt? Or mask or anything really?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael sighs, bites his tongue to not say anything Jack would deem invasive about the scars, and nods to the backpack under one of the other chairs. “Jeremy brought clothes. I don’t know where your mask or jacket are honestly.” He pauses for a second. “You know, you don’t have to wear the mask anymore with us?” He looks up in time to see V glance away. “V?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s twice you’ve called me that now.” V answers instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael’s brows furrow. “Called you what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“V.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Michael stared at V but he kept looking out the stupid window. “I guess, I don’t know. Jeremy and Gavin call you that. Since you’ve never told us your real name, and Vagabond is long as dicks dude.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>V smiles and shrugs. “I know. Besides you’ve gotten my face already, don’t be greedy for my name.” He says it lightly but Michael is getting a tiny little inkling of something under it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know we don’t care right? I mean we do, but like, face or no face, name or no name, you’re one of us, and clearly you know we look after each other, fuckin Mr. Human Shield.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That gets a laugh out of V, and finally he looks back to Michael. “I-. Yeah, thank you. Eventually I will, I promise, but not right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That means you gotta stay alive long enough to.” Michael states, leaning back in the chair, the overhead worry of the last six days finally seeping out of him. V hums at him, and that’s the end of the conversation. They get a nurse in to get some food for V, and Michael tells him what he knows about what the crew’s been up to, and they rate the nurses walking by based on their scrubs, and after a few hours Michael hears Gavin before he sees him as the rest of the crew crowds through the door, half yelling half shushing.</span>
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  <span>Gavin wraps himself around V’s side in a mutant hug and Geoff pulls him off simply to hug him himself and then Jack’s trying to get them all to chill the hell out and Jeremy’s already stuck himself at V’s side and is saying things Michael can’t hear over Gavin and Geoff to make V laugh. Eventually they settle down and Geoff happily declares to both V and Michael the opposing crew has been wiped out, and Jeremy declares a true celebration going out for bevs once V is okay enough to DD for them and Michael rides the emotional high of having his family together and alive all the way to V’s release from the hospital and then some.</span>
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  <span>For a while after, Geoff doesn’t pair Michael and V together for missions and Michael doesn’t know whether to be bothered or relieved until the prep for one mission where V straight up tells Geoff he’s going with Michael. Only Jeremy doesn’t seem surprised, and Michael ends up worrying through the rest of the meeting and into the morning and down to the garage, and then V is standing by the car bare faced and grinning like he just stole a whole universe and Michael can’t do anything but grin right back, fingers tingling in giddy anticipation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heist goes flawlessly, and Mogar and the Vagabond make the news together the next day, and Michael understands the concept of no harm no foul.</span>
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